Visions and Voices: Hearing America Singing

On Thursday evening I attended a Visions and Voices event titled, "Hearing America Singing: Multiracial Cultures in America." It was focused on American Poet Elizabeth Alexander, the fourth poet to compose and recite a poem at a presidential inauguration in 2009. She spoke about the importance of racial diversity and poetry as a "place of the soul, reaching across the void of human beings" and unifying them into a whole. Alexander explored the necessity of African American Studies in college academics, and explained how poetry has helped her to "hear America singing in varied tones."

So you ask, what does this have to do with our American Studies class? In reality, it connects quite closely. Elizabeth Alexander, an African American herself, recognizes that the world is ever changing. She says that it is no surprise to her that "Latinos will be the largest single ethnic group at the next census," and even quotes Poet James Baldwin when he says "The world is "white" no longer, and will never be white again." Alexander believes that we must allow the change, debate, tensions to amalgamate in our culture: she says "I don't think poetry needs to be "hard," but it does need to be "heated."" Los Angeles is not Los Angeles without a study of it's issues: the Riots of 1965 and 1992 and The Water Wars help to define the cultural tensions that make the city what it is today.

Elizabeth Alexander realizes that "art has a place of civic discourse," and "our difference is what makes us American." She is a woman of poise and strength, and I quite enjoyed her speech.

I will end by quoting her speech, just as she did, from President Obama's Inaugural Address:

Praise Song for the Day

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.